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“Spread your fucking legs like the whore you are.”
The man at my feet stiffens with the implied command given to him, but he presses his other hand to my right leg. I have to look away as I comply. I know he’s being forced. I know his erection is chemically induced. I’ve been where he is, most recently, only a couple of days ago when he was the one tied to the bed.
Knowing all of that doesn’t make it any easier.
I jerk, my chin quivering, when I feel the brush of his fingers at the center of my body.
He pulls back, forcing me to look down at him. Jesus, if he breaks character and the client is pissed, we’ll both be punished.
I watch as he rubs his thumb against his index and middle finger, wanting to explain the slickness on them, but I can’t.
Fighting is all I’m supposed to do. I can’t tell him that I used bottled lubrication because I didn’t want to end up more injured than I had to be. I knew what was going to happen in here. Just like I know that this probably won’t be the only time I’m used tonight. Suffering extra pain doesn’t hurt anyone but myself. Telling Pirro I’m too sore to do what he asks will only make him mad. There’s no compassion where that man is concerned.
The man looks utterly disgusted, as if he made some very wrong assumptions about me.
For the first time since being brought here, I want to cry because of how someone perceives me rather than feel shame for not being strong enough to tell them no, even after they threaten Alani.
“You slick fucking whore,” the client growls. “I knew you fucking wanted this.”
He wipes his fingers on my inner thigh as if he’s beyond disgusted with what he found. He shifts his knees, walking further up the bed to settle between my thighs.
His eyes dart away, looking in Pirro’s direction rather than the teleprompter. I don’t know what he sees, but he looks like a broken man when he faces me again.
My lip trembles, every cell in my being wanting to tell him I understand.
“I fucking hate you,” I spit instead.
I’m so sorry, he mouths.
The uncontrollable tremble starts in my chest, making its way out to the tips of my fingers. I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to get warm again.
Chapter 12
Nash
I know that death would be better than this.
Even years facing the same torture Pirro has so eagerly handed out since being brought here would be better. If given the option, it’s what I’d choose.
I look toward Pirro, the smug bastard grinning at me, taking as much joy in watching me struggle with this as he did using a fucking scalpel to carve up my body.
It took more than one threat to even inch closer to her. His last words hurt her a little or I’ll hurt her a lot, is what finally got me moving.
The look in her eyes told me she was willing to die, possibly begging for it, but of course Pirro could see it as well. Her death wouldn’t be quick, and as much as I know she’s going to hate this, I have to consider how much she’d really hate the other option.
Pirro tilts his head toward the screen. I drag my eyes in that direction, hating the urge to press closer to her if only for the warmth her skin provides.
STOP AND SHE DIES.
The sick bastard even managed to make the letters red as if mimicking the blood we’ll both shed.
“I fucking hate you,” she seethes, and I wish there was a way to make her understand that no one can hate me more than I hate myself.
If I thought for a second that Pirro would put a bullet in my head before killing her, I might take the chance, but I know the sick bastard will make me watch if not make me participate in her demise. I’m just not strong enough to do it.
I’m so sorry, I mouth, not giving a shit if the fucking customer sees or not.
Tears are a steady stream from her eyes, and the quiver in her chin is enough to break me.
Fuck her real hard and she’ll come on your cock.
Pirro said that to me as I walked toward her, and at the time, it disgusted me. I’m torn between giving her body something, even knowing how much it will fuck with her mind, but maybe it’s better than just being another assailant on her list of many.
I don’t want to be just one more person haunting her dreams, but I see no way to avoid it.
She gives me the slightest, almost unnoticeable nod of her head, and I know it’s the only permission I’ll get. It’s more about accepting our fates than anything else.
